


redamancy

by tnevmucric



Category: Persona 5, Persona Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Metaverse (Persona 5), Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Dreamsharing, First Meetings, Inspired by Your Name, M/M, OOC, POV First Person, Romantic Fluff, Stream of Consciousness, unbetad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-05
Updated: 2019-09-05
Packaged: 2020-10-10 09:36:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20525858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tnevmucric/pseuds/tnevmucric
Summary: i can feel the weight of his words in my palm.





	redamancy

"I love you."

I can feel the weight of his words in my palm.

"I want you to know." His arms slip over my shoulders, hands flattening on my chest and grasping at my wrists—my pen pauses. Does he think that consistent distance is the only thing to bring us closer? Is that the only excuse he can muster? I close my eyes, feel his breath on my cheek and his ear brush my temple. I've become strange, cruelly tangled in his grasp. His eyelashes flutter against the bridge of my nose and he presses his lips to the corner of my mouth. They're dry, almost inflamed, and I have to wonder what kind of balm he uses (if at all). I want him to grab me, shake me and stir me, I want him to do what he wants with me so I might receive the same pleasure. He pulls away and I want to pull him back. _Stay._ Stay against me because I don't want to be anywhere else.

(You look so lovely in blue.)

"Sweetheart", he murmurs, twists our fingers together, kisses chastely under my eye. My pen rolls between the couch cushions and is replaced by his squeezing hand. "How do you feel?"

"Good", I admit hoarsely. "I love you."

I'm so scared to open my eyes, to lose the feeling. I lose myself so often thinking about the little things—walking home with him, laughing down the path with his hands firm on my shoulders... I can't ever see him but his smile tickles my neck: it's a game of ours. I trip on his toes and one of us remembers to bring an umbrella.

These bodily flashbacks, jerk responses to his questions... I'm embarrassed in my skin, his beautiful thinking leaving ink-like blots on me. Does he remember me when he wakes up? Does he only love me in our dreams? I'm exhausted and homesick for my life without him, aching for that distant, different place where his feet didn't step in the bare recesses of my mind.

(I am homesick for our dreams, homesick for my life with him. I ache for the distant place where your feet have left rain spots on my carpet.)

(If you've seen me before, walk by me again. Catch my eye. Wear red so I can spot you.)

(Wear blue so I know it's you.)

Nothing scares me anymore.

I drag him towards me, we're uncomfortable and unfitting but it doesn't matter. Your hands brace my face so tight that I even want you to try to give me a concussion; _beat_ me, _feel_ me, let me wake up in the morning feeling sore and knowing that _this is all real_. That's all I ask for. He kisses me open-mouthed and heady—discretion doesn't mean anything when he caves his way inside. 

"Relax", you say against my mouth. _Your mouth, my mouth..._ I don't want to relax, I try to say. _My hands, your hips, my hands, your thighs._ Crawl into me. Make me remember you so I don't forget. Carve into me so deep that I may never forget your name again.

Slowly, 5 AM crawls into my room, warming the sheets around my shoulders and worsening the wrinkles around my eyes. _Don't look, don't touch_ the sun seems to hum. _Don't move, don't say too much._

I lay there motionless. I think about the day to come and the week to arrive and the year that will pass by—death and panic, they just don't exist. It just feels like life until the end today. Tomorrow could be different, but today I just want the air. I just want to go there. 

_Where?_

I feel like I can't connect with my body.

Like I have no purpose.

Like I need to throw up.

Like... like...

I glance out of the window, even that feeling like too much. I stretch my fingers and something is missing. I curl my toes and it's like they've walked places I've never been. Where have I been?

_Look at me. Really look at me._

The television could have been left on. Have I left my earbuds in?

_It isn't spacious here, is it? But it's small and it's ours. We should leave the windows open._

My feet ache against the floorboards, my head ducks into the lounge—no T.V., no sound in my ears._ You're not going to be hurt here, so _run._ Come on, _run_ because you won't fall._

_I'm waiting for you._

But it's early outside, but I'm not dressed yet, but I have things to do, but it feels like every step I take is on broken glass.

Every step I take feels like it's on broken glass.

"Make me remember", I whisper to him, tugging him against me. Our couch is a soft leather and the sliding door to the balcony is wide open—he's hung a small wind chime there. I like it. His weight feels good on me. I like him pressing into me. I like him. I want him. "Don't let me forget this."

He takes my breath away.

I take the stairs _two—three—_four steps at a time, tripping but not falling and stubbing my toe but not landing. The elevators are out of service, they always have been.

My fingers are shaking and red and I'm _sweating._ I haven't gotten dressed. There is carpet under my feet and the stairs hadn't taken pity on me.

I ring his doorbell. (_13C_ he traces on my palm, closes between my fingers, seals with a kiss. It scars. It itches. It heals.)

His footsteps are slow and heavy; it's 5:25 and he'd only just woken up 24 minutes ago. He shuffles down the hallway and smothers a yawn into his palm, scratching the back of his neck and peeking through the hole in his door.

_Hello?_ He'd fallen asleep before me, feeling less and less human in my arms and more like the illusion of air. _Are you there? Are you listening?_

_I've been trying to find you. I can't ask for help because sometimes I even think this isn't real._ My heart's racing. His head is warm in my lap, glasses abandoned, hair knotted. _I think I should leave you alone. I think we've been preoccupying each other's time for too long. I'm sorry._

I hear his hand on the handle.

_"Even if you stop", he tells me, suddenly breathing, suddenly blinking, "I'll keep looking for you."_

His shorts are dark and closer to the colour of denim than navy. I can see his socks bundled by his slippers in the hall and his sweater is the same dark blue as the sky: a necklace twinkles on the higher side of his chest. I feel myself sway, magnetised toward him, lips itching to wave against his—_hi, hello, how are you going?_

"Ren."

You can feel the weight of my words in your palm.

**Author's Note:**

> thank u for reading!
> 
> — tnevmucric.carrd.co


End file.
